


Napkin Notes and Girly Drinks

by poisoninthewater



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: April is evil, F/F, Lesbian Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-09
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:46:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/997140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisoninthewater/pseuds/poisoninthewater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night at the Snakehole, Ann has lots of feelings and April just wants her to stop talking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Drunk Ann is the worst Ann. Sober Ann never really shuts up and sometimes even now, when there's no one else around, she'll try chatting with April about whatever it is Ann talks about, she really doesn't know, but the last time it happened it only took three seconds of April glowering at her to make her give up. April timed it.

It doesn't work on drunk Ann because drunk Ann just doesn't care. She says things like, "I know you have to keep up your I'm-April-and-I-hate-everyone act but I know it's an act, okay," and then she just keeps going. She even gets up and follows April when she goes to the bathroom to hide and even tries to walk into the stall with her because she's so stupid when she's drunk and when she stands at the door to April's stall and keeps talking, April decides she hates the Snakehole and she hates alcohol and she hates Leslie for making her celebrate anything with them ever. Okay, she doesn't hate Leslie because Leslie is cool except for this thing where she's always telling Ann that she's a beautiful sparkly unicorn fart or whatever she says.

Some guy has dumped Ann. Probably because he's a normal human being and realized he didn't want to make out with Ann the sparkly unicorn fart for the rest of his life.

April stalks to the bar and screams at the bartender over the music and club noise to give her Snake Juice before she sets herself on fire, and it's gone seconds after it appears in front of her. She orders another one and takes it to one of the couches in the corner. Ann is still following her and still talking.

She tries not to actually listen when Ann says, "Maybe I should try girls, you know," but no matter who she's talking to she is immediately interested whenever someone thinks about going gay. Then Ann makes that face she gets when she's said something stupid, even for her.

"How long have you known you were a lesbian?" April says, and an idea clicks into her brain, popping like ice cubes under running water.

"I'm not - I didn't say I was -" Ann blurts out, making those little huffy noises that people make when they really want you to believe what they're saying. She doesn't finish her sentence, just sips from her drink again.

"It makes sense though. You know a lot of lesbians like self-sabotage all their relationships with men because they don't really want to be with them."

"Self-sabotage?"

"Yeah, like you screw stuff up on purpose and you don't even realize you're doing it."

"Yeah, I know what it is, okay? I'm not gay." Ann sounds upset and nervous. She tries to stand up to leave, probably to go tell Leslie how much she loves her for the eight hundredth time today because that's totally what a not-lesbian would do, but she stumbles and falls back onto the couch so April has to act fast, has to push harder.

"Don't go," she says. "I know it's hard to come out here. Pawnee. This place sucks."

"Oh my god, you're actually being nice to me over something that's not even real."

April sighs. "I know I'm like, really mean to you all the time. I mean it is kind of an act." She adds, "Like you said," because Ann loves being right.

"Why do you do that?" Ann asks, kind of quiet. Quiet for the Snakehole, anyway, which means that she's not quite screaming into April's ear.

"I don't know," April says. "I just do. I guess at first I was like, going through some stuff." Like you kissing Andy, she thinks, and she's still so bitter about it. "I didn't realize you were going through some stuff too."

"You could have talked to me about it."

"So you are a lesbian?" April says after a second.

"God, April! No," Ann replies. "I meant you could have talked to me about the other stuff."

April bites her lip. "Not really."

"Why not?"

April rolls her eyes, dramatically. "'Cause it was about you, okay?"

Ann freezes, her drink hanging halfway to her lips, one of those dumb looks on her face. "What do you mean?" she asks, and April could splash the drink in her face, how is she missing this, the I-act-like-I-hate-you-because-I-really-like-you thing?

It's time to get serious. April leans in but Ann holds her hand up, saying, "Whoa. Whoa. April."

"What?" She can't stop herself from sounding annoyed. Mostly with Ann but with herself, too, because it's game over before she really even got started. She wasted all this time talking to Ann. She could have been doing something way more fun like drinking out of the toilets.

"You're married," she says. "To Andy?" Like April would ever, ever forget that. God.

"Yeah, and you just got dumped. So what?" She lets it hang in the air for a second just to let it sting, let the loneliness really sink in like venom. Ann actually goes a little pale, her mouth twisting down all sad like she's never ever going to find a new guy in like two days.

The second time April leans in, Ann doesn't stop her.

It's actually kind of nice. The taste of all those girly drinks Ann's been slamming back all night is on her parted lips, and god, drunk kissing is great. Ann tries to set her drink on the table next to the couch but ends up spilling it on the floor, the sound of breaking glass lost in the thump of the music and the laughter and screaming all around them. It takes like forever for Ann to actually move her lips, catching April's bottom lip between her teeth, gently and when Ann stops talking April guesses she isn't so terrible. She pushes her tongue past Ann's lips, and she feels Ann make this small noise but she can't hear it, swallowed up by lame music, and pushes back. Her hands frame April's face, fingers curling slightly around the nape of her neck, at the base of her skull, getting tangled in her hair and who knew stupid drunk Ann would actually be kind of a good kisser?

April pulls away and Ann gets that dumb look on her face again until April takes her hand and leads her to the door at the back of the club. She wonders if anyone from work has seen them. She knows Andy hasn't because he'd be hovering over them in a second, that wide-eyed, open-mouthed look on his face like he's just seen that football guy, like, flying by on an angel Li'l Sebastian.

Ann opens her mouth and starts to complain about the cold but April kisses her again, snaking her arms under Ann's unbuttoned cardigan, pulling her close, pressing their bodies together. Ann is making all these little sounds now, she sounds so needy which is probably why that guy dumped her since making out with her isn't so bad.

April doesn't let her go until Ann feels her phone buzz in her pocket. Leslie is looking for them, worried that April has finally done something horrible like lock her in a dumpster or throw her cell phone in a storm drain.

Ann goes into the bathroom before they leave. April knows she's drunk enough that she might completely forget about this, like that time she and Leslie were going around City Hall loudly trying to figure out who Ann had made out with the night before. She grabs a napkin from the bar and writes on it, _I was the person you made out with last night. April._ As they're all leaving, she slips it into Ann's purse.

She imagines Ann finding it in her purse tomorrow morning, making that face for the entire drive to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Among her hangover remedies, Ann finds something terrible.

Every time Ann goes out on a weeknight, it makes her feel old but she still promises herself she will never, ever do it again. Well, she promises that but she also promises that if she does she'll at least drink some water every once in a while.

She stumbles out of bed and into the shower, a thought nagging her at the back of her head or maybe it's just the hangover.

Or maybe it's a thought. Did she make out with someone last night? Did she at least have the sense to get his number? Or the sense to lose his number if he was a really crappy kisser or looked hotter in the dark than he really was? Or the sense not to give him _her_ number if that was the case?

She has a bottle of B12 in her medicine cabinet that she decides to put in her purse and bring with her to work to share. No one ever has these when they really need them, although as many times as this has happened maybe she should just leave it in her desk and buy another bottle for her house.

Stepping out in daylight is the worst, and she wonders if she can get away with wearing sunglasses all day.

She goes by the Parks office first to see how Leslie is doing. She's a little embarrassed that everyone seems fine, that they didn't go on a mini-bender on a Tuesday night and come to work in sunglasses. April is giving her a look that's strangely lacking in any of the usual I-come-from-the-fires-of-hell-to-call-you-a-slut-and-resent-you-for-kissing-my-boyfriend thing she has and wow, Ann really hopes she didn't do something stupid like forget to button her blouse. She's actually checking when Leslie sweeps her into her office and offers her a huge chocolate chip muffin. Ann actually backs up a little, the smell of chocolate and sugar making her groan.

"Wow. That bad, huh? You didn't make out with anybody, didja?" and it's one of those Leslie jokes that comes at exactly the wrong moment, where she realizes she's the only one giggling about it a little too late, and then her face gets very serious and she goes, "Oh no." But she can't stay serious for too long and starts asking was it good or was it bad and who was it and then tramples right over her mumbled answers that she doesn't remember and starts talking about the campaign and her low numbers and Ann guesses it is kind of a bigger deal than who she did or didn't make out with last night. She tries to listen and decides to take another B12, unzipping her purse and bringing out the giant bottle and a napkin with writing on it. Okay, so she got a number. Maybe that's good.

She feels like she's falling through space as she reads what's written on the napkin. "Oh my god," she says out loud, and Leslie stops mid-sentence and mid-muffin.

"Ann?"

Ann is having trouble breathing. Okay, that's a little over-the-top but there is no way this is true. _I'm the one you made out with last night. April,_ the napkin says, and how would that even work, how would April's head not fall off of her shoulders from rolling her eyes so hard, how would Ann not dissolve into a puddle of acid if they ever - no. This is impossible. "Oh my god," she says again.

"Ann!" Leslie says again. "What is it, what's the matter?"

"Um," Ann replies, trying to think of something to say. "I forgot ... something. I have a report to file."

"You didn't tell me you had a report to file. I would have helped you, I love writing reports," Leslie is saying as Ann is standing up, cramming the napkin back into her purse and struggling with the zipper.

Ann says a little too frantically, "Yeah, but you're trying to focus on your campaign, remember? It's fine, Leslie, I have to go!" She tries to rush out of the office but she only manages a walk that is slightly faster than normal. She feels April's eyes burning into her as she leaves the Parks office and considers leaving Pawnee or maybe Indiana altogether.

She wrestles with the lock on her office door, looking up and down the hall at the people going through their mornings and wonders if April's told anyone. Obviously not Leslie. She didn't see any knowing looks in the office. Andy didn't even look up at her from the table where he was tearing open sugar packet after sugar packet and dumping them in his coffee. If anyone in the Parks office could indicate whether or not April had told anyone, it was Andy. An office that small doesn't allow for secrets. Word would get to Andy somehow. And if Andy knew everyone knew.

"Knew." There was nothing to know. Nothing had happened. Ann had not made out with April. There was just no way. There was just no way April would be able to keep herself from either clawing her own eyes out or just breathing fire on Ann.

She gets into her office, takes the napkin out of her purse and allows herself to stare down at it for fifteen minutes. That's how long it takes her to drink her coffee, check her email and feel generally human on most normal mornings.

How did April get this into her purse? Was it when she walked into the Parks office? It couldn't be. She hadn't gotten up from her desk at all while Ann was there.

It had to be last night. April could have done anything last night and Ann wouldn't know a thing. Obviously. She remembers getting to the Snakehole and Leslie buying her drinks as she talked about Eric dumping her and then she got up so she could leave Leslie alone to maybe go talk to Ben and then she found the nearest person she knew -

April. She was talking to April. It could have happened.

But it didn't. It didn't.

There's a soft knock on her open door and she grabs the napkin and shoves her hands down onto her lap and she knows she looks completely catatonic, looks at best like she was staring down at her empty desk but she just tries to be cool, just greet whoever it is and act like she wasn't just contemplating the mysteries of the universe that are on her desk calendar.

"Hey," the person at the door says, and it's exactly the low, subdued voice that she wants most not to hear right now.

"Hi, April," she says, trying to put on the kind of cheery voice that usually sends April turning around and leaving right away, but what comes out is a sad kind of croak, the kind that only gets April interested, especially when Ann is involved. April takes a few slow steps to the chair on the other side of Ann's desk, and Ann is about to say that she's busy and she really doesn't have time to chat but that's clearly not the case, with the vast empty wasteland on her desk. April lingers next to the chair and presses her lips together and Ann tries not to notice the clear lip gloss making them shine, even under the fluorescent lights in her office.

"Hangover?" April finally asks and Ann can't take it anymore, can't take not asking April what the hell is wrong with her and what she thinks she's doing, so she does, and April says, "Nothing," and Ann holds up the napkin and asks, "So what the hell is this?"

"Um, it's a dumb little note I left you because I didn't want you to forget about making out with me."

She expected a thousand horrible April responses but not something like that. "So we ... We really did," Ann says, and her breath leaves her.

"Yeah. It was actually kinda cool," April replies, and Ann wouldn't know who the hell she was talking to, except April starts snapping her gum and takes a retractable pen out of the cup on Ann's desk and clicks it in and out, again and again and again.

"Cool?" Ann says, her voice small and faint.

"Yeah, that guy's totally lame for dumping you. You're actually a really good kisser."

"Oh. Um. Wow, thanks, I think. But you can't stay with someone just because they're a good kisser." She can't believe she's actually defending a guy for dumping her but there's a lot going on right now that she can't believe and most of it's even weirder than that.

"Sure you can. It's why I married Andy."

"Yeah, about that. Is Andy cool with ... What we did?"

"Andy and I have an open relationship. I get to make out with whoever I want and I can mess around with girls, and he gets to make out and mess around with Eddie Vedder and everyone else on Earth except you. We should make out again."

It's all delivered to her perfectly wrapped up without a note of interest, this stream of information she's not sure she actually wanted to know about April and Andy's relationship. "We could do it right now," April adds like she's saying they could go for sushi for lunch.

"Okay, look," Ann says. "It's a nice offer and I'm glad it was fun for you, but I don't remember it at all and I think that's probably for the best. Can't you just, I don't know, say something horrible to me and leave so I can get to work?"

April sits there, no horrible remark coming. Does she look a little sad? Ann can't tell, but that might be because she's still wearing her sunglasses. "April?" she says and April explodes, her Janet Snakehole voice echoing throughout the hallways. "You have broken my heart, Ann Perkins! You'll never kiss these sweet lips again!"

She storms out of Ann's office and now Ann knows the reason for the delay. Several people are standing outside her door, looking in at the woman wearing sunglasses and putting her head on her desk. "Good," she says to herself. "That's good. I love having an audience on days like this."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April finds out how to do her evil work and still make Leslie super proud of her.

April's a little bummed because it might have been a little too soon to break out Janet Snakehole. Everything was great this morning. Hungover Ann is far superior to sober Ann and drunk Ann. Hungover Ann who just found April's napkin note is the best Ann.

But now it looks like her fun game that would have totally destroyed Ann is over before it even got started. Ann will think she was putting on a show just to mess with her, which is kinda true. But she'll probably also ignore anything April tries that's related to the making out thing. She'll have to find another way to destroy Ann. Or maybe she'll just make out with Andy and play X-Box.

When they get home that night she tells Andy everything. He's turned on the X-Box and he's probably going to play until he falls asleep. "Hey, babe," she says. "Remember how I told you you could make out with pretty much everyone in the world except Ann?"

"Uh-huh," Andy says, punching a dude until his face explodes.

"And how you said I could make out with any girls I wanted to?"

"Um," Andy says, and his face explodes because he missed when he was going for another dude, and the dude punches his face instead. "Yeah."

April chews her gum a few times, takes it out of her mouth and stretches it between her fingers. "I made out with Ann tonight," she says finally.

Andy's eyes are the widest they've ever been, his mouth stretched open into an excited O and April wonders if his real face was to going to really explode. "Wow, babe, that's really awesome! But, uh, I thought you hated Ann."

"I do," April replies. "I hate her so much."

"Ah," Andy says in the voice he uses when he thinks he understands what's going on. "So you decided to show her how much you hate her by ... making. Out. With her?"

"It was like the only way to get her to stop talking to me." April wraps her gum around her finger. "She really freaked out about it today."

"Oh, dude!" Andy brings his hand to his forehead, looking again like he's finally figured it out. "I thought Ann was straight!"

"She is. She couldn't resist me." April can feel her lips quirking up and tries to stop herself before it becomes a full-on smile.

"Like no one alive could resist you, babe," and April says, "Yeah?" and they have sex on the couch, the sound of Andy's face exploding blasting on the TV because he forgot to pause the game.

As she's walking with Andy into the office the next morning, she thinks next time, if she bothers, she'll wait to let it boil over slowly. But Ann is in Leslie's office and when she comes out and sees April, she freezes and stops talking mid-sentence. It's her favorite thing Ann does, made even better because Ann's still freaking out about it. The making out thing. She wonders if Ann ever remembered anything or if April's word is still all she has to go on.

"So I'll see you tonight, right?" Leslie's saying, but Ann is looking at April like she can't look away, and April's looking right back and it's amazing, watching Ann decide whether it's best to run away or stand completely still, like April is some horrifying predator. She can feel a smile trying to edge onto her face and if she did smile, Ann would probably burst into flames right here in the office. As April is trying to tone down the evil she feels building behind her eyes, Leslie says, "Ann?"

"Yep! Tonight!" Ann says a little too loudly, that fake bright tone in her voice that always makes April want to puke. She doesn't look away from Ann, though, and Ann eventually leaves the office without another word.

Leslie frowns and looks over at April, and April turns to her. "Ann's been acting a little weird lately," Leslie says suspiciously, and Ann remembers her text the other night, asking if April was finally carrying out some horrible plan for revenge. "April, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"She seems like the same old awful Ann to me," April says. Leslie's face tells April that she knows something is up but she doesn't know what it is.

"April," she says in the closest thing she has to a stern voice that really just sounds like she's being very insistent but still nice. "I know you and Ann have your problems -"

"Yes. The problems are that I hate her because she's awful."

" _But_ ," Leslie continues, "she's very important to me and this department and my campaign."

April feels a little bit of guilt, which she hates even more than Ann. "Yeah, I know."

"I'm not asking you to be her best friend."

"Yeah," April says, and all the evil in her blood feels like it's being replaced by warmth and sunshine which makes her feel gross. "I won't bother Ann anymore. At work. Around you." Leslie gives her that knowing smile, that _what am I going to do with you_ smile that would make her start plotting murder if it were anyone other than Leslie. She looks down at her nails and thinks about filing them into sharp points. Another idea seeps into her brain, and the warmth and sunshine starts to give way again, and she knows how she can pull this off, still have fun being horrible to Ann while not tipping Leslie off at all. "Maybe I'll ask her to lunch or something."

"Oh, April." Leslie sounds like she's about to cry, and April can see Donna raising her eyebrow, her mouth twisting into a smirk. "You have grown so much in just few short years -"

April can feel a hug coming on, so she covers her ears and closes her eyes and says, "Don't." When Leslie goes back into her office, sniffling, April glowers at Jerry and Tom and thinks about getting some of those red contacts and wishes there were some that could light up.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie sends April to Ann's house and thinks she's helping start a great new friendship.

Ann finds herself thinking that April can't be that great of a kisser if she doesn't remember anything about their encounter that may or may not have happened. Then she tells herself to stop thinking about it and stop calling it an encounter. It was just April being April, making out with someone she hates just for fun. That's all. If it even happened. Which it probably didn't, because making out with someone you hate just doesn't make sense, even for April.

She's in her living room, her crocheted afghan and several huge binders in her lap. She's trying to put together a list of public health talking points for Leslie but she can't focus at all because she can't get all this crap about April out of her head. She's been trying to get April to like her for years, because she has never been so hated just for existing and it's kind of sore spot. She doesn't know whether she's trying to prove to April or to herself that she really is a perfectly likeable person and a good friend.

Either way, she now has April's attention. She never thought she would miss the days when a good response from April was sullen silence, but she regards those memories with a surprising fondness now. Her phone buzzes as she is taking refuge in one particularly nice sullen silence when April didn't even scowl at her. It's Leslie, and Ann answers, hoping for good campaign news.

"Ann, guess what!" Leslie says, and Ann doesn't even get a chance to open her mouth before Leslie barrels ahead and says, "I really wanted to help you with the public health fact sheet but this outreach event got a little out of hand and now there are a lot of puppies and a lot of pee on the floor of the senior center so I talked to April and she said she'd be happy to come help you out! Isn't that great?"

"April?" Ann cringes at the sound of her own voice, like Leslie is talking about sending a horde of mongooses to her house and not a surly 20-something vampire in a cardigan.

"Don't worry, Ann, Andy said he would stay and help with the puppies! So no awkward moments, right? I think this is good, like April's finally coming around!"

"Leslie -"

"Okay, great! She's on her way now! Bye, Ann! Sir! Sir, no, this isn't actually a toilet!" Leslie ends the call and April is on her way to Ann's house. This can go one of two ways. They will work together like two normal adults or April will do her best to antagonize her. But Ann is kidding herself. This will only go one way.

She finds April in her phone contacts and dials the number she hasn't called since April was house-sitting for her. "What?" she answers. All the words Ann had neatly planned out fall from her head and she opens her mouth and no sound comes out. "Ann?" April says. Ann expects her to ask if she got laryngitis or something in that pleased tone she gets whenever Ann has a stroke of bad luck, but April says nothing else.

"Uh," she finally croaks out, "hi, April."

"Hey."

"It's really nice of you to volunteer to come help me with this but I've actually got a pretty good handle on it, so -"

"Really? Have you finished it?"

"Well, no, but -"

"Bummer. Because if Leslie was going to come help you it means you need at least four normal human people to get it done."

"April. There is no reason for you to come over. I have everything under control, okay?"

"Come on, Ann, don't make it weird, alright?"

It's such a reasonable thing for April to say that Ann is shocked into silence. Maybe she is making it weird. Maybe if anything happened it was just one stupid thing that happens when one person decides to make out with another person when they've both been drinking. These things happen. Just because they apparently happen to Ann with an alarmingly high frequency is no reason to completely avoid someone who is acting friendly toward her for the first time in four years.

"Okay. As long as you promise not to make it weird either."

"Ugh, really?"

"Promise?"

" _Fine_ ," April replies. "I'll be there soon."

Ann makes it a point to stash all the alcohol in the pantry. She and Leslie usually have girly drinks after a long hard late-night work party, and she had all the ingredients for cosmos ready but no alcohol will pass Ann Perkins' lips as long as April is around, not even something as lightweight as a cosmo. _I am_ not _going to forget another make-out session,_ she tells herself. A moment later, she thinks, _Christ, Perkins, you're not going to_ have _another make-out session._

The tension actually leaves her shoulders after about half an hour because April is, surprisingly, helping her be productive, and it turns out that four people was an overestimate on April's part because they're totally finished after about an hour and a half. Plenty of time for cosmos if this were a Leslie and Ann work party.

"Thank you so much, April," Ann says as she's saving files and closing her computer, knowing that the best way to get April to leave is to start being nice to her. "I would have gotten like no sleep if you didn't come over."

"Yeah, just imagine how much _two_ competent people could have gotten done!" April replies, sending that smile and lilting voice right back to her, but rolled around in spiders and evil, dipped in antifreeze and cat hair.

Ann was expecting it and was even planning for it, but it's been hard not to take things personally the past few days. "Oh my god, can you not be the April Ludgate Show for like one night?" she says, and it was exactly the wrong thing to say because she will never ever beat April at this game. She shouldn't even care about beating April at any game at all but one barb is all it takes to set her teeth on edge, to give her this caffeine headache feeling that makes her want to tear stuffing out of pillows, rip fact sheets to shreds. "You come over here and tell _me_ not to make it weird when that's all you've been doing!"

"Wow, Ann. Is there something you've been thinking about non-stop for two days?"

Ann takes a breath. "If anything happened -"

"You mean if you made out with me?"

" _If_ I made out with you -"

"You did."

"- you know I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't been drinking."

"You sure about that?"

If this were a Leslie and Ann work party they would have each had one cosmo, toasted another great night of work and talked about the campaign and Leslie and Ben's break-up and everything would have been fine. She would have hurt for Leslie because she's running for office, the first step to the really big things she's been dreaming of since she was a kid, while she's going through a break-up that's even more painful because it's so obvious she and Ben are still so into each other. Leslie would have told her how amazing she is, would have compared her to some obscure and maybe not particularly attractive animal and Ann would have felt valued and loved and maybe it would have taken longer to sink in because it's always hard to feel valued and loved when you've just been dumped, but she would have gone to sleep knowing that it would get easier tomorrow and the day after that.

But this is an April and Ann work party, and they haven't even had a drink because the cosmo ingredients are locked up and she is so angry and April is kissing her again or maybe for the first time and it's so weird, being mad and kissing someone but it's much, much better than trying to play the April game where she just dares you to be as terrible as you can be and no matter what you do, you lose. It's much better than that because as abrasive and awful as she is when she's talking and even when she's not talking, April is a great kisser, her lips gentle and minty, her thumb stroking softly over Ann's cheek. Whenever Ann's in the room with April, it's quiet but there's a tension that's always ready to snap. Right now it's quiet, just the sound of April's mouth on hers, and Ann could almost relax again.

April pulls away. "Have you been drinking, Ann?" she asks, looking directly into Ann's eyes in that unnerving way she has, the way she stared her down in the Parks office, the way that makes Ann want to leave even though it's her house and her couch. Her fingers are still tracing slow circles on Ann's cheek and it's such an electric moment, shivers pulsing with awkwardness and want and _oh my god,_ Ann thinks, because she wants to keep going.

"Oh my god," Ann says, rolling her eyes, pulling away from April and slouching against the couch cushions. "Why did we even ... how did this _happen,_ April?"

"I really, really wanted you to shut up about that guy."

"Who, Eric?"

"I don't know his name because I was trying not to listen to you."

"Trying?"

"You wouldn't leave me alone and I figured if I kissed you, you'd either leave and go find Leslie or I'd be making out with someone and not have to hear you talk about another stupid guy who flaked out on you. You just date really lame guys, and you started talking about trying girls, so I figured why not." There are a lot of feelings Ann's fighting with, but they're all muffled under confusion. Is this what it looks like when April tries to be nice? "And you were actually kind of good at it. And I wanted to try it again. And here we are, I guess."

"Here we are," Ann repeats, and April rolls her eyes and moves closer, draping herself over Ann and kissing her again, wrapping her arms around her and pushing her deeper into the couch cushions and Ann is just surrounded by softness and it's the first time she's felt good in days, so she shoves all those doubts away because she's going to remember this so it might as well be fun.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann has a really stressful lunch hour.

Ann still looks at her with fear sometimes, but it's mostly confusion. As long as she doesn't start sending like fond looks or anything gross like that, it's fine.

It's time to implement phase two of her plan. Step one is figuring out what phase two is. She thinks about brainstorming on the whiteboard in the conference room, maybe making a binder. Everyone would find out, though.

Actually, that's pretty good. But she might lose her job, and although it'd be cool because Ann probably would too, she doesn't think she'll find another job that's as not-lame as hers even though it gets pretty lame sometimes. She saw a brochure about the mortician program at Pawnee Community College last time she went there with Andy, but she's not sure she wants to bother with another two years of school.

She pulls the top sheet of paper off her legal pad, where she had written _FUN ANN GAME_ on the top line and had made one bullet mark labeled _phase 2_. She crumples it up and throws it in the trash. Leslie's always talking to her about setting goals and getting organized before a new project, but this isn't what she meant anyway and it's like the best way to make sure April's not having any fun at all.

So she drops by Leslie's office and asks her if Ann showed her the fact sheet they made last night.

"Oh my gosh, you finished it?" Leslie asks. "April, that's great! You and Ann worked together on a project and didn't kill each other, yay!" She's clapping and April sort of flails her hands slowly and echoes, "Yay."

"Did you ever have that lunch? Maybe you should work on public health stuff for the campaign with Ann!"

"I guess that's not a terrible idea," April says. This could be good for her fun Ann game but it could be bad for her continued mental health and freedom from prison.

"Why don't you talk it over at lunch today?" Leslie asks, and that's how she finds herself in the passenger seat of Ann's car, Ann with that nice terrified look on her face.

"You can relax," April says. "I'm not going to try to like make out with you while you're driving or in public or anything."

Ann groans and says, "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Doing what? Giving you awesome girl makeouts?" Ann twitches at that, and April adds, "Besides, I'm doing this for Leslie."

"Okay. Okay," Ann says, more to herself than April. She taps her fingers on the steering wheel as they're waiting at a stoplight.

"God, Ann," April says, "if you're this weird over just making out with someone, do you just drop dead when you have sex with them?"

"Oh my god," Ann says, her grip on the steering wheel tightening. April has to look out the window because she can feel a smile coming on. Ann swerves into the Bluebell Cafe after a few minutes of absolute silence only occasionally broken by Ann opening her mouth and getting ready to say something and then deciding against it. She doesn't look at April at all and only orders a side salad and water and doesn't look at the waitress either. This is amazing.

"Okay," she finally says. "We _have_ to talk about this."

"About what?"

"April," Ann says. She sounds like she's the screaming virgin in a horror movie and April is the serial killer.

"Ann."

"Look, I don't know if this is just you having fun or whatever but it's really ..." She turns her silverware over and over on the table. "I guess making out with other girls -" Her voice gets really low, like she's talking about hardcore anal sex or something. "- just isn't that big of a deal for you but I've never. I just haven't, okay, and now I've done it twice with you. Or maybe just once, I don't know. And I'm kind of the rebound right now and I just - It's just screwing with my head." She finally stops talking, right in the middle of her heartfelt speech full of stupid feelings, and she stops playing with the silverware and looks at April, all that awesome tension and sadness just falling off of her face. "Oh my god. That's it. You're just screwing with my head. Still. I can't believe this." She gulps down her water and slams the glass down a little too hard and gets some looks from other people. "You just ... you're actually going out of your way to do this. You're coming over to my house to do _extra work_ just to screw with me. What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

This is the best. She loves making Ann take off the Ann-the-beautiful-blood-sucking-mosquito mask and just start yelling because no one is ever 100% who they are until they're pissed off and yelling in the middle of a mid-scale restaurant in an armpit of a town like Pawnee.

April presses her lips together and takes a breath. "I want to help Leslie win her campaign and I was expecting to hate every minute of doing extra work with you in your lame house but I didn't. And honestly it's like maybe you're not the worst human being alive. And I just like making out with you, okay?"

Ann plants her elbows on the table, a huge no-no in the second-classiest place in Pawnee and gets a bunch of looks from the people around them again, but she has her face buried in her hands so she can't even see them and be even more embarrassed. "April," she says again like she has a million things left to say but she doesn't say any of them.

"And like maybe Leslie isn't wrong when she's always calling you like a beautiful crystalline snowflake or whatever."

"Stop."

"And you were super nice to me even though I'm always super mean to you. And now I just want to hang out and make out with you more."

The waitress comes with Ann's salad and April's sandwich and she looks concerned. Ann moves out of the way and says thanks, still not looking at either her or April. April eats her sandwich but Ann sits there, looking down at the table through her hands, and when April finishes eating she takes Ann's purse from the chair next to her and pays with one of her credit cards. She asks for a take-out box for Ann's salad and signs the credit card slip when the waitress brings it back.

"Are you gonna cry?" she asks when everything is done. "Did you wear waterproof mascara?"

Ann looks up at her, her eyes dry and mascara still in place, and seems surprised by the empty table, the take out box sitting in front of her where her plate of salad was.

"We should go," April says. "I can drive. If you need to cry for a while."

"No," Ann says. "It's fine. Let's go."

The clock on Ann's dashboard says it's only 12:30. They still have half an hour left on their lunch hour. April is reaching back to put her purse in the backseat when Ann leans over the center console and kisses her, right there in the Bluebell Cafe parking lot, and they would probably getting a lot of confused and maybe nasty looks if Ann's windows weren't tinted. Ann kisses even better when she's feeling desperate, her hands behind April's neck, pulling her closer, grazing April's lips with her teeth before biting them, sharp little sparks of pain making April shiver. It's a little mean and a little sad and maybe this is the best Ann. She pulls away and says, "We still have half an hour left," and Ann smiles a little before April leans down to suck a little bruise onto her collarbones, Ann's hands in her hair, making choked little sounds that sound halfway between a moan and a sob.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann has yet another stressful lunch hour.

She's on the rebound. And it's fine. It's fine to have fun just after you break up with someone - or, Ann thinks, let's be honest, after someone dumps you - even if that person is still really horrible to you when you're not making out. Even if that person is 15-years-younger-than-her, married-to-her-ex-boyfriend April.

"Oh my god," Ann groans in the silence of her office. She has the door closed and the blinds lowered, the fluorescent lights making her eyes hurt and her skin crawl. Everything feels completely wrong. All she's done this morning is stare at her email inbox as though it has the answers to all of her current problems. Before she knows it, it's noon and Leslie is knocking on her door with two styrofoam containers from JJ's. A waffle lunch with Leslie. This could be what she needs. Leslie has so many huge problems right now that even if talking about them won't make Ann forget what's going on with April, she can a least feel like a normal, capable human being again. Problem solving with Leslie is always therapeutic even when it's frustrating. "Hey," she says, forcing the corners of her mouth up into a smile. The second her mouth opens she is ready to spill it all, confess everything because not talking about this with her best friend or anyone at all hurts. It feels so lonely and what the hell is a rebound good for if it's not fighting back that loneliness while you get used to life without that person who dumped you?

"Hey!" Leslie's voice is so warm and so familiar, so the opposite of cold, strange April that Ann feels some of the tension melt from her shoulders already. "Waffles?"

"Yes," Ann says, and her voice sounds like waffles are the solution to a problem she had been looking everywhere for a solution to. "Please."

"Want to eat in the courtyard?"

She's wary of being anywhere where April might see her, might decide to announce to everyone that they have made out three times now and really, truly force her to leave Pawnee. She wonders if that's been April's plan all along. She brings up the evil pigeons that like to hang out in the courtyard during lunch but Leslie brightens even more and says, "We don't have to worry about that today! There's only one pigeon out there and he looks like a really old one so he might not even try to steal food from us." In the end she can't come up with a good excuse for why they shouldn't eat their waffles in the courtyard, so outside they go. Ann isn't exactly hopeful that April's Ann-in-potential-misery sense will stay dormant today but maybe something nice will happen.

Nothing nice happens. April is nowhere to be seen and Ann is starting to enjoy the prospect of an April-mind-screw-less lunch, so of course Leslie says, "So how was your lunch with April? Productive? Did you come up with any exciting strategies or action plans?" Leslie is vibrating in her seat, so happy that Ann and April are finally getting along that Ann has to add one more lie to the pile.

"Yeah," she says, "it was. It was great." She tries to put some enthusiasm into her voice and hopes Leslie doesn't ask about what they got done at lunch. The one nice thing that happens is that she doesn't and Ann doesn't have to come up with another lie. Leslie just gets that soft look of pride and admiration on her face, sets down her plastic fork and knife and puts her hand on Ann's arm. She grins as she says, "Ann. You are amazing. You are a wise, noble, beautiful baobab tree. I knew April would come around! You are so patient and wonderful -"

She's getting a Leslie compliment, one of the ones that kind of make her feel awkward but always make her day better and more than once have made her whole week feel worthwhile. But right now she feels like she could spend the whole week swimming in an unending stream of Leslie compliments and they would never touch her, never fill up that lonely feeling of never being good enough that's been drowning her the past few days.

Tears fill her eyes and she can't stop them, the taste of maple syrup lingering in her mouth. She can't breathe right because of this feeling that there's something broken inside her that isn't healing properly. Leslie's arms are around her and she's trying to hold everything in, trying to breathe in through her nose, out through her mouth but it's all mixed up.

"Ann?" Leslie's voice is quiet but there's so much concern, running so deep that it twists Ann's stomach even more. "Ann, we should go inside," Leslie says, her voice wavering a little.

But she clings to Leslie, doesn't want to move because if anyone sees her like this, especially April, she doesn't know if she'll be able to keep herself from just dissolving into nothing in the middle of City Hall.

Soon she's exhausted, her eyes raw and burning, her head pounding from the pressure and she's finally just breathing, wrapped up in a Leslie hug that she knows will last as long as it needs to. She feels guilty, knows Leslie has so much going on that she should probably be dealing with instead of taking care of Ann, but it's like their entire world has stopped and it's one of those moments that are so rare now, where it's just them, together and they're going to fix this problem, whatever it is.

Ann has finally caught her breath when Leslie finally says, "Ann. Please tell me what's wrong."

"I -" Ann is ready to say it, ready to tell her everything but it stops before she can say another word. She struggles around the knot in her throat, the fog and the pain in her head. "I -" She's still stuck, not knowing where that sentence can go. "April. And me. There's - we've been ..."

"What happened?"

"She kissed me. I think. And then we kissed again twice and she's still being herself but sometimes she's not, sometimes she acts like a human and it's so screwed up, like she likes me and I think I like her too but then we'll get to a point where it feels like we can just be two people and then. She goes back to normal. And I get so mad and we kiss again and I don't know how this is happening or why she would do this if it weren't for real." Every thought that's been lurking in Ann's head for days is spilling from her lips, thick and sticky and cloying like the taste of maple syrup still in her mouth.

"April?" Leslie's saying, her voice weak. Ann pulls away from her and looks into her face, twisted into a confused frown, her mouth gaping open. "Ann, this is - this is really bad. I - April and Ann? I mean, you, you and April."

Ann's stomach drops to the ground and it feels like her guts are spilling everywhere, every gross day at the hospital roiling in her belly. She wanted to tell Leslie everything but now that she has, she's not sure what she wants Leslie to say about it. Stop? Keep going? She can be happy with April, maybe one day?

"You have to stop this," she says, and Ann's pretty sure that's one of the things she didn't want to hear. She thinks of all the reasons not to stop, how April goes from jagged, pointy, painful thorns and broken glass edges to quiet and soft and sweet so quickly, this part of her that Ann never thought existed. About the thrill of letting go of all the anger she's been holding onto, trying to hide from herself and everyone. About how it just all melts like ice, cool and flowing when April goes from egging her on, pushing her to dig out all the acidic, caustic junk inside her to kissing her in the span of seconds. But she can't say any of it to Leslie because this is April, the mentee who may as well be Leslie's maladjusted younger sister.

"I know," Ann finds herself saying.

"She's married," Leslie says.

"Yeah."

"To Andy."

"Yeah."

"She's a lot younger than you."

Ann closes her eyes and nods.

"She likes messing with people but doesn't know what to do when it goes too far."

Ann opens her eyes. Leslie is looking at her, and Ann knows that that's what this was. Just a game April was playing that's gotten out of hand and now she doesn't know how to back down. That's all.

She feels like she was weighed down, pressed under stones, but now that they're lifted the only thing that was holding her together is gone.

"It has. Gone too far," she says to Leslie, to herself, her voice hoarse and cracking.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April discovers that her least-favorite Ann is not chatty annoying Ann.

April decides to surprise Ann at her house because surprised Ann lets her tightly-controlled Ann mask slip, lets April work her way in just enough so that she can rip it off and leave Ann all flustered and a little confused.

When Ann opens the door she looks upset already. Her eyes are a little puffy, a little red. "Why have you been crying?" she asks, not letting Ann try to hide it or ignore it.

"Hi, April," Ann sighs, moving to the side to let April come in. April steps inside. Ann's lame house smells like vanilla and cinnamon and there's some stupid movie with some guy with huge teeth playing on her TV. There's a box of tissues on the table and a little pile of crumpled tissues lying next to it. "God, who died?" April says.

Ann sighs and and says, "We need to talk."

April rolls her eyes and replies, "Can we just make out instead?"

"No! April, god," Ann says. She sits on the couch, collapsing against the blanket draped over the back. "That's. That's what we need to talk about, okay?"

"I thought we already did talk about it. You decided making out with me is great and that we should keep doing it."

"Okay, pretty sure I didn't say that -"

"You totally did."

"- but even if I did, I'm out."

"You've said that too."

"Okay, well I'm really done this time."

"Why?"

Ann stutters for a minute, like she just can't believe what April's asking her. "Because - because we just can't do this, okay?"

"That's not really an answer, Ann."

"Then it's because this just isn't good. I'm on the rebound and I'm hurting and I'm not totally convinced this isn't just some grand April game. And you're married and you're younger than me and every time I see you we're fighting and then we're making out but I'm starting to like you anyway." She stops talking, sinking into the couch, her eyes closed and god, April hopes Ann starts crying again. "And that just ... I can't, okay? I don't know whether it's because it's you or if it's because Eric just dumped me or ..." Ann's voice cracks and that's it, she's crying.

April sits down next to her. Her whole body is rigid when April scoots right up next to her and slides her arm around her back. "You're like, way overthinking this," April says. "Some dumb game would be way too much trouble just to have someone to make out with."

Ann lets out this choked little sob, this really ugly sound that makes April's head hurt a little because it's not like fun Ann crying or anything. "Ann?" she says, but Ann doesn't say anything back, just keeps crying. "Listen, um -"

"What the hell is going on?" she finally says, her voice all muddled with tears, and April knows that hot twisting feeling in her throat and her skin is kind of burning, she kind of doesn't want to sit still but Ann's holding onto her now, is gripping her hand like April's the life line and not the quicksand. April freezes. "I don't know if anything I'm feeling is real, like have I just been wasting all my time my whole life in every boring relationship or are you just -" After that, April doesn't understand anything she's saying, everything just one long wavering sound that makes April want to disappear into the cushions more and more every second.

She's pretty sure this Ann is not her favorite. She's never seen her like this before, like every trace of annoying chatty Ann is gone. All that's left is tears and every insecurity nobody but April ever sees, that Ann hides really well from everybody else with all that fake niceness. It's hard to look at her or listen to her but she's so there, something April can't ignore but that she really doesn't want to see.

She doesn't know what to say or do. Normally she'd say something mean but Ann is having all these feelings and it would just be like kicking a puppy and she hates people who hurt animals even more than fake annoying Ann.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she hears Ann whisper and it's like she's cracking now, like Ann is crushing her and her bones are splintering. Her tongue is thick and still in her mouth, her brain a fog and Ann's words echoing in her skull, no sound coming from her lips to meet them. Ann feels boneless against her now, her grip on April's hand faltering and fading.

She could tell the truth right now, leave Ann alone and never say anything to her again. But it would be like every mean thing she'd ever said to her put in a glass bottle and set on fire, thrown at a building that's already been burned down and gutted. This isn't fun anymore. Ann's no fun unless she's being mean right back but this Ann doesn't have anything but sadness and like twenty different insecurities that she's not bothering to protect now.

She rubs Ann's back, her hand trailing down soft fabric, moving over the ridge of her spine, her fingers dipping into the valleys between each bone there. "I'm sorry," she says, and it's even kind of the truth and Ann just holds on tighter and neither of them say anything for a long time, the credits of the stupid big-teeth-guy movie rolling and then the screen is black. April's hand hurts from Ann's man grip but she doesn't move even though she still wants to be anywhere else but at least Ann isn't crying anymore.

Ann sniffles again, and finally says, "I told Leslie."

"What?"

"I wasn't really planning on it." Ann's voice is stuffy and raw, her eyes even redder and her face pained. "It just. Happened. I can't really keep anything from her for too long, I guess."

April moves her hand up and down Ann's back again because she doesn't know what else to do. "What did she say?"

"She said ... sometimes you get into things with people that are a little over your head." April can tell that it's not exactly the truth. It's obvious in the way she says it so carefully, choosing her words so it's not quite a lie but not quite the truth either.

"What did she really say?"

Ann fidgets a little, runs her fingers over April's knuckles. "Sometimes you mess with people. And then take it too far. And then you don't know what to do."

It's exactly the truth but April can't let it be. She feels like Ann's kind of known all along, all the things she's said to April over the past few days, like she was right on the edge of it, looking right at the truth and then looking away."So why didn't you just tell me that?" she asks.

Ann looks at her like it's the wrong question to ask or at least not the one she was expecting to hear. "I don't know," she replies, "I guess I ... didn't really want it to be the truth."

"It's not." She hears Ann draw in a breath, quick and sharp but quiet, a little gasp that sounds hurt and hopeful at the same time.

"I told Leslie we would stop this. I would stop this."

"Well, don't."

Ann shakes her head and her voice sounds a little stronger now when she says, "We have to. April, it's just ... whether you mean to or not, you are messing with my head. Okay? I can't keep being around you and not knowing what to expect. It's making me paranoid and I just lost my mind today when Leslie asked me about you. I can't keep something like this hidden and it's not good for either of us."

Ann is giving her an out. She should feel relieved because her stupid little game can be over and she doesn't have to sit here and with her skin crawling and this creeping vine in her chest strangling her slowly.

But she doesn't. She feels even worse than she did when Ann was crying and she feels like something is being taken away from her and she just wants to dig her claws even more.

She thinks that whatever is here can still be salvaged, thinks about kissing Ann again but then Ann says, "I think you should go," and April can't come up with a good reason why she shouldn't. She drives back to her house, tries to distract herself by watching Andy play X-box, tries to forget about kissing Ann as she's kissing Andy, tries not to think about Ann when they're falling asleep in their bed, his hands wrapped around hers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann tells Leslie something that turns out not to be quite true.

Ann thought that once April closed the door behind her, she'd finally be able to breathe. But it's not happening that way at all.

She curls up in bed and tries not to cry anymore, her head all fractured glass and fluorescent lights. She dreams about vines curling around her, wrapping around the base of her neck, around her thighs, between her fingers. There are thorns tipped with poison and she's standing completely still as they get tighter and tighter, waiting for the poison to get under her skin but the vines just coil around her, the thorns never piercing her skin.

She tries not to think about it as she drives to work. She heads straight to her office, putting off the talk with Leslie that she knows is coming. Avoiding the Parks office where April is sitting at her desk, all thorns and poison behind her shiny brown bangs.

Ann feels hungover, dizzy, like the ground is uneven under her feet, like every single tile on the floors in City Hall was rearranged somehow, like trash was swept under the carpets.

But she gets a text from Leslie asking if she can come over for dinner and to talk about some campaign literature. It feels normal, and normal is so what Ann needs right now. She answers back, _Yes, bring cheesecake._ She knows they probably won't talk about campaign literature. That's fine. That's what she needs.

She makes linguine alfredo and feels like a robot, mechanically measuring and whisking butter and cream and cheese, snipping away at a sprig of parsley with kitchen scissors. She winds the pasta around her fork while Leslie does her best to fill the silence. She does a great job, of course, and between her best friend's chatter, the pasta, the cheesecake and the cosmos Ann starts to feel a little more human, a little less lost, a little less like the world is off-center.

Finally Leslie stops dancing around it and asks her about April. "Did you talk to her yet?"

"Yeah," Ann says, sipping her drink. Leslie watches her face, waiting for more, waiting for Ann to tell her everything worked out but she's not sure she can. Sure, Ann put a stop to it, like she said she would, like she knew she needed to. But there's the problem where nothing feels right anymore, like she stepped out of her life for a few days and came back and every single thing around her was replaced with a not-quite-identical copy of itself. Everything in her house seems to have settled around her the way it's supposed to be. For now, at least.

"How did it go?" Leslie asks quietly.

"Fine," Ann says quickly. Leslie is still looking at her, blue eyes filled with the kind of boundless concern Ann has only ever seen in her face. "I, um," she stammers. "I told April that we had to stop and that it wasn't ... appropriate."

"How did she take it?"

Ann kind of laughs a little, surprising both of them. "She wouldn't listen at first."

"That's April," Leslie says, a sad kind of half-smile on her face. Ann just nods, tries not to think about April's arms around her, tries not to think about the look on her face as she left, the saddest she'd ever seen her. Tries not to think about her lips and the bruise still on her collarbone. "Ann, this is for the best," Leslie adds, and Ann nods again.

After Leslie leaves, Ann pours herself a glass of wine and runs a bath. Her house is cold and the heat isn't helping. She makes the water as hot as she can stand it, sits on the rim of the tub as she watches the tub fill up. She's pulling her sweater over her head and looking at that bruise again, her head spinning with wine and cheesecake and steam when her doorbell rings. She walks through the house, leaving her sweater in the bathroom, the chill in her house bringing out goosebumps all over her skin, so cold her cami may as well be nothing.

She looks through the peephole and her breath catches in her throat when she sees April standing on her porch, looking off to the side with her hands jammed into the pockets of her coat, looking like she doesn't want to be there at all.

Ann doesn't know who she expected to see. The goosebumps on her skin start to fade, replaced by warmth. She opens the door and April says, "Hey," not looking at her, moving past her into the living room.

"Hey," she repeats. "April, you -"

"I was just fucking with you," April says, standing in front of her, her hands still in her pockets, a desperate look on her face. "At first. I just wanted to make it weird and then it got weird and I was gonna stop. But then you were, like, really into it. And then I got really into it and now I don't wanna stop."

Ann breathes in. She feels the chill from outside still lingering around them, mingling with the cold air in her house. It's still for a moment, like the whole room is holding its breath as April steps toward her, tossing her coat to the side, and she almost doesn't know what to do without those surges of anger coursing through her, a sense of calm flowing down like honey, from her lips to the tips of her fingers to the base of her spine, when April's mouth meets hers, standing in the middle of her living room, hands smoothing down her arms. There's no coaxing here, nothing daring Ann to be as mean as she can be, just open and simple, the taste of cranberry juice and mint lingering on her tongue.

She leads April over to the couch and sinks down onto it. April follows, cascading over her slowly, one knee on either side of Ann's thighs, her arms wrapping around the back of Ann's neck as she kisses her again. Ann sweeps April's hair back from her face, her thumbs tracing over her cheekbones. April is twined around her, almost clinging like Ann's going to make her leave again, and the thought makes her tighten her fingers at the base of April's neck, pulling her in. April's hair is smooth between her fingers, her tongue silken in her mouth. Her fingers slide through Ann's hair and she pulls away, tilting Ann's head back and grazing the shell of her ear with her teeth. Her breath is a shock against Ann's skin, stark and hot in the cold of her living room, sending a shudder down through her body, drawing a low moan from her throat. April's lips move against her skin and another shudder rocks through her as she breathes out a small laugh, barely there but so loud in Ann's ear, making her press her nails into the back of April's neck. She turns her face and catches April's mouth again, and she feels herself shaking when April pulls away and looks into her eyes.

"Ann," she says. "You know this is okay, right?"

Ann huffs out a laugh, confused and awkward. She is so not ready for the come out, come out, wherever you are speech. "Yeah, April, I know -"

"I mean, like. Us. This."

"That really isn't clearing anything up."

"Like," she says, casting her eyes down, "who cares if this isn't you or whatever?" It hits her hard, all that uncertainty from days of weirdness that have felt so much longer crashing down around her again. The chill sets in again, the sadness, the loneliness. "Hey," April says, her hands on Ann's face, looking back at her again, holding her gaze. "Just don't let that shit in, okay?"

"You were the one making me feel that way."

"I know." April bites her lip and looks away again, looks at the wall behind the couch, the corners of her mouth pulling down before dipping her head down and resting in the hollow of Ann's neck. "That was ... I was really lame. For doing that. I just wanted to make it weird. I didn't want to make you feel like this." Her breath ghosts against Ann's skin, and Ann relaxes in the warmth on her neck and wrapped all around her.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asks softly after a few moments. "Like, why right now?"

April shrugs. "I don't want you to think I hate you."

Ann sighs, drops her hands down around April's waist, moves them up under her cardigan, her fingers sinking into soft fabric and heat. April kisses her again, her fingers sliding under the straps of Ann's cami, etching a trail down her shoulders, hot and cold swirling together, coming to rest at the small of her back before she unhooks Ann's bra. Ann feels her breathing pick up, echoed in April's breath at the hollow of her neck, moving over her collarbone, teeth grazing over that spot she marked days ago. Ann gasps as she sinks her teeth in, knows she'll see that bruise for days to come and kind of thrills at the idea, sweeps her nails down April's back, moves against skin, and she chokes out, "Stop."

"What?" April snaps, glaring up at her.

"My bed's a lot better for this," she says, and April stands up, pulling Ann with her, running her hands up under Ann's top and lifting it over her head, pushing the straps of her bra off of her shoulders. Ann shivers as April leads her to her bedroom and lies down next to her on her bed, hands all over, gliding over curves and licking down her chest, teeth and lips and tongue like fire on Ann's skin, scorching, seething. She strokes down Ann's ribs with the fingers of one hand, the heat of her mouth searing circles on Ann's breast, tongue tracing around her nipple and the anticipation builds in Ann's throat, between her thighs, and she throws her head back, curls her fingers in April's hair, arches her spine up into April's touch. April catches her nipple in her teeth, and Ann freezes, gasping as April flicks her tongue, hovering on that edge where the promise of pain sends waves of sparks through her. But April flicks her tongue again, draws Ann's nipple into her mouth, and Ann opens her eyes, looks down at April draped across her chest, her eyes closed and her lips on Ann's breast, fingers cupping the mound of flesh and she's beautiful and Ann can't look away but it's like staring into a flame, makes her feel a little too exposed and fragile.

"April," she says, caught between a whisper and a plea, and April opens her eyes, traces another circle around Ann's nipple, holding Ann's gaze again under black lashes as she drags her tongue across the sensitive peak, dusty pink lips sucking at her skin again, gently this time, licks her way back up to that bruise, drops a kiss there before moving up to kiss Ann's lips again, and Ann can't remember the last time she _wanted_ so badly, so wet she can't stand the thought of April teasing her for another second but wants this to last, doesn't want it to ever end.

She sits up abruptly, pulling April back in, surging forward and crushing their mouths together, slipping April's cardigan off her shoulders and pulling her T-shirt off, frustrated at the layers separating their skin, wants to feel every inch of April's skin on hers. April reaches back to unhook her bra and lets it fall off of her shoulders, caught between them when Ann presses up against her, April flat on her back beneath her. April makes a small noise in the back of her throat when Ann kisses her again, the first sound she's made, quiet and high-pitched and it just pulls at Ann, sends her hands roaming down April's body, her fingers at the hem of April's jeans, pushing them off of her hips.

There's a part of her that's telling her she doesn't really know what she's doing, but the sight of April undressing in her bed is enough to help her push that thought out of the way. She knows what gets her off, and that's a good start.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April and Ann get down to business. Lady business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Apparently it's super difficult for me to write lesbian sex. Thanks for the nice comments and kudos! Everything I do is for validation from strangers on the internet.

Ann is fucking her and she feels completely boneless, stretched out on the bedspread as Ann's fingers work their way inside her. Her thumb is dancing over her clit, sending shocks running all through her. Her mouth is on April's mouth and April's hand is buried in her hair because she has to hold on to something, sparks building in her hips and her thighs and making her feel like everything around her is fading. Her eyes fly open when Ann's fingers curl inside her, and she makes these sounds that are so stupid, moaning into Ann's mouth and pulling away, her head falling back onto the bed and she catches a glimpse of Ann's face all smug. April can't even come up with something to say to her, just moans again when she tries to. Ann draws her fingers out, and it feels empty but she's moving so slow up to April's clit, so slow this tremor runs through her, her hand tightening in Ann's hair.

"Ow, God," Ann says, but she keeps moving her fingers on April's clit so April doesn't care, her breath loud and shaking in her ears, and her hips are pushing up into Ann's hand and she knows that stupid look is still on Ann's face. Her legs are shaking with every movement Ann makes.

Ann is laying a line of kisses down her neck and her chest, and it makes her want to close up, makes her feel too exposed. But Ann is on top of her and she's so close. Her nails press into Ann's skin and she feels Ann's teeth at her nipple and she's on the edge, and everything slows down and she's curling in on herself, all that tension bursting open and flooding her, waves falling over her. She makes those stupid noises again, pushes Ann's hand away when it gets to be too much.

"Oh my god," she mumbles. Her head spins a little and she turns on her side, away from Ann. She feels Ann's hand stroking along her hip, fingertips whispering across her skin, barely there, like April won't feel it if she does it gently enough.

"That wasn't so bad," April says and Ann scoffs behind her. "I'm super tired now though. I should probably just go." She lets her hair fall in front of her face as she suppresses a smile when Ann makes these choked noises behind her.

"Are you - you can't be serious," she says.

"Yeah," April replies. "I'm kinda bored."

Ann heaves a huge sigh and moves away, the bed dipping down as she stands up.

"Ann," she says as Ann starts picking up her clothes. "Come back."

Ann looks at her and gets that look she gets when she's being stupid. It's still amazing.

"I was fucking with you."

Ann sighs again and says, "Really not the best time for that."

"It's always the best time to fuck with you. Come back."

Ann edges back over to the bed, eyeing April with suspicion. No one's ever looked at her like that when she's naked and it's kind of funny. Ann lies back down and April turns over to face her.

"So do you have like a strap-on or anything?"

"Uh, no."

"Handcuffs?"

"No."

"Knives?"

"What? No!"

"That's totally a lie. Everyone has knives."

"Okay, really hoping you're still fucking with me -"

"I'm not."

"Ugh," Ann says. "Look, I'm not really into all the weird stuff."

"I could just fuck you with like a remote or a phone or something."

"Oh my god," Ann says, dropping her head back down on her pillow.

"Do you have a cordless phone? I'll just go get it."

"April! Jesus, should we just forget it?"

April rolls her eyes and says, "I guess if you want to be boring. What do you want me to do?"

Ann stares at her, that look of frustration still on her face. "I don't know."

"Do you want me to go down on you?" April asks.

"Yes."

"Cool. Say it."

Ann laughs, but then stops and eyes April, guarded. "What, seriously?"

"Yep." She trails her hand down Ann's hips, under the waistline of her jeans. Ann is so wet, April's fingers pressing into her easily, gliding over her clit and making her shiver. "I'll totally do it if you ask."

Ann is arching her back and clutching at the bedspread as April slips her middle finger inside her, drawing out and pushing back in slowly. "Oh my god," she whines, and April slides her thumb down the length of her clit, pulling out of her and Ann says, "Okay, April, please go down on me."

April presses her lips together as she hooks her thumbs in the belt loops on Ann's jeans and pulls them off of her. Ann is staring up at the ceiling, acting super nervous like no one's ever eaten her out before. Maybe no one ever has, maybe she just has super boring sex and never has orgasms unless she's getting herself off.

Ann keeps her pubes trimmed, and what's there is sticky with girl juice or whatever and it's kinda cool that she's the one who made Ann like this, got Ann to ask for this. Ann is still staring straight up above her, her gaze not moving. She's lying perfectly still, waiting for April, so April touches her again, presses down on Ann's lips, strokes down, her fingers sliding slickly over skin. Ann lets out this long, low moan that's even lamer than the sounds April was making so that's cool. She's pushing up against April's fingers so April pulls away and smiles when she hears this little groan of frustration. Perfect.

She runs her tongue up the length of Ann's pussy, salty folds on her lips. Ann's clit is hard and swollen and April sucks it into her mouth, light pressure making Ann arch up into her. Her hands are in April's hair, pulling slightly and it's so demanding, from nice perfect beautiful never-mean Ann. This Ann might be the best Ann.

She just teases Ann for a while, not really trying to make her come, just making her moan and push up into April's mouth, licking at her clit and then backing off when she can hear her getting close. Soon these deep groans are filling the room, Ann's breath going from soft and shallow and pleading to loud and ragged and desperate. April drags her tongue along Ann's clit, slow and long and she knows it feels like miles to Ann, feels it in Ann's grip on her scalp and in the way her spine lifts off the bedspread. She slides her fingers inside her again, curls them and Ann shudders. She growls through gritted teeth, and she's grinding against April's tongue and April can't even pull away. An orgasm rocks through her, more of those frenzied sounds falling from her lips and April keeps licking her, fucking in and out of her with her fingers and Ann's cries are ringing off of the walls until she's saying, "Please, please, you gotta stop." April doesn't, looks up and sees Ann's head inclined toward her and their eyes meet and Ann falls back against the pillow, and April finally stops.

Ann's breath comes deep and labored, like she's been running or giving birth or something. When April lies down, the bedspread stretching between them, Ann pulls her toward her and kisses her again, which actually kind of surprises April.

"That was -"

"Shut up, Ann," April cuts her off, knowing she's just going to talk about how amazing lesbian sex with April is. Ann just kisses her again and April is sure it's much better than whatever Ann was going to say.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann gives April a sex robe and cheesecake.

They drape the covers over themselves, April mumbling about how cold it is in Ann's house and how weird that is considering that her house is April's idea of hell. Ann is cold too and wonders if April is going to try to cuddle with her but she isn't surprised at all when she doesn't, just lies down, facing Ann, her eyes closed.

There are a lot of thoughts bouncing around in Ann's head but she can't put the words together to express them. She told Leslie this whole thing with April was off and like fifteen minutes later it was back on again. "I can't believe we did this," she finds herself saying out loud.

"Neither can I," April mumbles, not looking at Ann.

"Can't drop the mean April act even now?" Ann asks, but it doesn't have any heat behind it because it doesn't exactly bother Ann anymore. Nothing is really bothering her right now. Still, when April says, "Nah. Just surprised you were cool enough to actually go through with it," she smiles.

"Me too," she says, and April opens her eyes. There are a few moments when it's just them, just a real smile on her lips and April's eyes dark and liquid in the dim light. Then the walls of the dam crack a little when Ann says, "Leslie was here before you." This little bit of guilt seeps in through the crack, drops eating away the smile on her face.

"So you decided to squeeze me in for some lesbian time after your not-lesbian time with Leslie?"

"Actually, I told her we were done."

"You said that to me too. Maybe you should hire a fact-checker."

Ann fidgets with the hem of the comforter. "What if I said it again?"

April yawns and says, "I guess I'd figure you didn't really mean it."

"What if I did, though?"

"God, Ann, that would suck, okay?" April rolls her eyes and sort of flops over, lying on her back now. "Why are you thinking so much? We just had pretty okay lesbian sex and now you're just bringing me down."

Ann's starting to feel a little sad but she smiles a little anyway. "Sorry. I just. It kind of bums me out to think about not doing this anymore."

"So stop thinking about that."

Ann sighs. "But how long can we keep this up, you know?"

April shrugs and says, "As long as we want to." She edges closer to Ann so that their shoulders are touching. "You're overthinking everything."

"This is stuff we have to think about, April. What about work? What about Leslie's campaign?"

"What about them?"

"Don't you think it might cause kind of a scandal if people hear about the weird girl from Parks who's married to the shoeshine boy and the nurse from Public Health having an affair?"

April scoffs and groans at the same time, which Ann has never heard anyone do before. "Who cares? Besides, how's anyone gonna find out? Do you wanna make an announcement at Leslie's next press conference?"

"No! But -"

"So just relax. We don't have to tell anyone. Not everyone needs to know all your sexy secrets."

"What about Andy?"

April doesn't answer at first and it's obvious there are things she's been thinking about too. "Don't worry about Andy."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"Of course."

"I mean, I know you said you can ... Do whatever with girls -"

"Like eat them out?"

"- but this is a little different, isn't it?" April closes her eyes again and burrows deeper under the covers, still barely pressed up against Ann. "I mean. I really. Kinda like this," Ann says. "And I don't wanna stop either."

April is silent again, bites her lip and turns to the side, facing away from Ann again. "Are you, like. Sure about that?" she says quietly after a few moments.

"Yeah," Ann says, and she is.

"Like I don't know why you're not pissed off right now," April adds. "It's just weird."

"Why would I ..." Ann feels like she's missing something.

"Are you serious?" April says when Ann trails off. "Like the past week? I mean, I just came into your house and told you what a dick I've been and then fucked you."

Ann thinks about it. She moves onto her side, rubs her hand up and down April's back, soft skin warm under her fingers. She says, "I don't know. You're talking to me like a human. You're not doing your creepy April vampire thing. You apologized."

"God," April groans, dragging the word out into at three syllables. She finally turns to face Ann, and actually looks into Ann's eyes as repeats, "Are you _serious_?" She looks completely confused, completely disbelieving. "Are you like actually this nice?"

"Christ, April, do you _want_ me to be mad at you?"

"No," April replies softly. "You're like on the rebound, right?"

"Yeah," Ann says slowly. "So?"

"So I'm not the easiest person to like. Or the best. Especially not if you're beautiful sand dollar anus Ann Perkins."

"What are you saying, April?"

"I dunno." She goes limp against Ann. "I've been like jerking you along. And just because I'm not now doesn't mean it wasn't super fucked up. Or that it won't be."

"You just spent the past few minutes trying to convince me to stop overthinking and now it's exactly what you're doing."

"You were just coming up with excuses not to do something awesome."

"So what was all that I'm-such-an-asshole stuff?"

"Good reasons," she mumbles.

"Okay," Ann says. "Get up." She throws the covers back and April whines when the cold air hits her. Ann tosses her a bathrobe and slips into another one, soft purple terrycloth sending tingles of warmth in her skin.

April rolls her eyes and grumbles, "I only wear sex robes made of human skin and sinew," but she shivers and pulls it on anyway. "What are we doing?"

"We are going to eat some cheesecake and drink some wine." April makes a face but follows her into the kitchen anyway and sits down at the table. "Why?"

"Do you seriously not do normal human things ever? We're both thinking too much so let's just have some cheesecake and wait until tomorrow to figure it all out. Okay?"

"I don't eat cheesecake. Or anything." Ann slides a plate and fork toward her anyway. 

"Do you want some wine?"

"No. I should probably. Go. After this."

Ann doesn't open the wine. It turns out that cheesecake isn't much of a distraction at all when you can barely taste it. She picks at the slice on her plate and watches April methodically eat hers while she sends text message after text message. Andy, Ann assumes.

"So what if I just stayed or whatever? For the night?" April says after she puts her phone down.

"Do you want to?"

"I want to to drink wine and make out and go to sleep. Like, here."

Ann smiles. "I'll get the wine," she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I would like for you to believe it was all mine, I must give credit for "Ann the beautiful sand dollar anus" to my pal [find_nowhere](http://archiveofourown.org/users/find_nowhere/pseuds/find_nowhere/works).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April looks for an exit.

April wakes up curled up and leaning against Ann on the couch in Ann's living room. The blanket that normally rests on the back of the couch is draped over them and the TV is on but muted. Ann's arm is around her, her fingers curled in the crook of April's arm. For a minute, nothing's annoying, the sunlight coming through the blinds and falling onto the floor, Ann's breathing slow and long and relaxed, the smells of cinnamon and vanilla lingering around them. Empty wine glasses are on the coffee table in front of them, next to a mostly-empty bottle of wine. It's morning but it's Saturday, so she doesn't have anywhere to be, and she can hang around here and bother Ann all day -

Except she can't because there's that thing where she has a husband who she actually loves and now she's annoyed. Not at the sunlight or Ann or anything but herself. Because this feels a little bit like cheating.

She tells Andy everything, including this. She ate bite after bite of cheesecake because that seemed to be what Ann wanted her to do. She was pretty sure Ann didn't want her to eat the cheesecake while she was texting Andy but he was going to wonder where she was. She had to tell him something. She tapped out message after message, trying to figure out what to say and how to hide this. She deleted all of them, finally settling on, _I just had lesbian sex with Ann so I'm staying here tonight._ She hit send and the message she got back was _lol now way! cu 2mrw_ and that was that. She was technically off the hook but April isn't stupid enough to think that technically means anything. It didn't really feel like telling him because a lot of the things she says go over Andy's head a little bit. She knows he's never really sure whether she's serious except when she says _I love you._

Ann sighs and April doesn't need to see her to know that she's awake, that her eyes are opening and she feels pretty good. Her arm tightens a little around April. "Morning," she mumbles and slouches down, leaning into April. This little humming sound vibrates in her throat because it's Saturday morning and she's waking up next to someone and April knows that's kind of a big deal to her.

This doesn't seem fair to her. Or to Andy.

So this time it's April who's going to say that's it, it's over, and unlike Ann she can end it and mean it. She's ready to do it because as much as it sucks to end it right now, it'll suck even more if she waits. But all that comes out of her mouth when she tries to say "It's over" is "Hey." All that happens when she tries to pull away from Ann is her arm slipping around Ann's waist, her hand curling around Ann's hip, her head resting on Ann's shoulder. It'll suck if she says it now and it'll suck when she says it later, but it can wait a couple hours. Or days. She closes her eyes against it, this huge thing that's coming, and tightens her arms around Ann. Ann makes that stupid humming sound again and April has to shut that out, too. She breathes in and out in the silence, listening as Ann drifts off to sleep again. She closes her eyes as the rising sun casts little motes of sunlight across them, and for a long time she's not awake but she's not sleeping either.

"Do you want some breakfast?" Ann asks her, squinting in the morning light. April tries not to think about her making pancakes for Andy, just says, "Fine," and moves away from her, slumping bonelessly against the back of the couch. Ann stands up and goes into the kitchen and makes cooking noises. Pans make sharp metal sounds against the stove, cabinets open and close, spoons scrape against mixing bowls. April follows her into the kitchen and pushes herself up onto one of the counters, right next to Ann's bowls and all her cooking shit. Ann gives her this look but just moves the bowls and the spoons and everything away from April and looks back down at the pancakes in the pan. Bubbles form around the edges and in the center and Ann flips them over.

April opens her mouth to say it because she hates dragging shit out, even if it's for a good reason like maybe finding the right moment, one that won't leave Ann in an even worse place than she already was, but Ann has put three pancakes on a plate and is getting syrup and butter for her, which means this is kind of the worst time to bring everything to a stop. Which sucks because April knows every other time is going to be kind of the worst time, too.

"So, uh," she says, sitting at the table and staring down at her pancakes. She feels like an awkward little kid, which is a really weird feeling to have because she's still in Ann's sex robe. "I guess I should, like. Go."

Ann sets her own plate down on the table and sits down. She nods. "Yeah," she says. "Okay."

"I could, you know, not," April adds, clinking her fork against her plate. 

"Okay," Ann says again, dropping her silverware onto the wooden tabletop with a bright clatter. "We're making it weird again." The way she says it, April knows that Ann knows it's always gonna be weird, no matter what they try, no matter how many times they stop these moments by reminding themselves not to make it weird. April's hands and elbows and shoulders feel like they're sticky with syrup as she eats. Her head feels like oil sizzling on a skillet. She can only take a few bites before it feels like she's eating Play-Dough so she stands up and takes her dishes to the sink, throws the leftovers in the trash and stacks the dishes in the dishwasher and then does the same for Ann.

"So, um," Ann says, pushing her placemat around on the table. "I'm gonna take a shower."

"Kay," April replies, her fingers twisting in the terry cloth fabric of Ann's sex robe.

"Do you need anything?"

"Nah," she says. "I can probably manage by myself for like half an hour."

Ann opens her mouth like she wants to say something back, but she doesn't. She just stands up and walks through the living room and disappears down the hallway.

The terry cloth of Ann's sex robe is starting to bug her, starting to feel like sandpaper, like every conversation she and Ann have now. Everything is weird and lame and April can't find the right way to say they should just stop. 

She steps out of the kitchen and walks to Ann's bedroom, where their clothes are scattered all over the floor. She takes the robe off and hangs it back in the closet where it belongs. She picks her clothes up from the floor, smoothing fabric out as she pulls her jeans over her hips, shrugs into her t-shirt and cardigan. Nothing feels right. All the seams feel crooked, the fabric feels bunched and wrinkled even though it isn't. Her car keys jingle when she grabs them from the hook next to the door, and she closes the door a little too loudly behind her.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann runs into Donna while contemplating Nicki Minaj fragrances.

April rejected her pancakes and now she's just gone. No goodbye, no surly dramatic exit. Just a slip out the door, the only signs she was here at all dirty dishes in the sink and a robe pooled on Ann's bed and the vague feeling of sadness and frustration gnawing at the edges of Ann's mind.

It would hurt but she is so tired of going around in circles about this. Arguments to kissing to arguments to sex to pancakes to an empty house. There's a dead part inside Ann that she wants to cut out, that she's tried to cut out but it just keeps growing back, deeper and deeper, tightening its grasp around her every time she says it's over and then doesn't have the will to follow through. She's afraid that there will be nothing left if she tries again.

She calls Leslie and her heart lifts for just a second when she hears the word _hello_ but it's only Leslie's chirpy voicemail greeting. The beep sounds kind of like her house. Like waking up next to someone who leaves without a word while your back is turned. She opens her mouth for a second but all she has to say is something she's not okay with committing to a recorded message. Words that will leave her feeling emptier if she puts breath and sound into them, releasing them into the air and into a cell phone microphone. She presses end and drapes herself over the arm of the couch. Deflated.

Her best friend is busy trying to win an election. The person she's in a weird and unhealthy let's-not-call-this-a-relationship-or-think-too-hard-about-it thing with is busy leaving her hanging. She has no hobbies and she's starting to hate not just today but all Saturdays. The words _retail therapy_ enter her mind and she's cringing with being a walking cliche of all things woman and high school and broken heart even as she's picking up her keys and purse.

The walking cosmetics ads working at Sephora look at her with a mixture of pity and horror when she walks in with still-damp hair and no makeup. Even the low, flattering recessed lighting can't make her look normal and she quickly learns to avoid all mirrors if she wants to get out of here with any shred of a positive self-image intact. She lurks among the fragrances, spraying tester strip after tester strip with sugary, floral scents that stick in her throat, forming a toxic cloud around her.

"Damn, Perkins, are you in mourning?" 

Ann nearly drops the bottle of Pink Friday she's holding when she sees Donna standing on the other side of the shelves. "Donna!" she shouts before she can stop herself. If everyone here didn't already think she was unstable, they must now. She sounds like she's spotted a vicious tiger instead of yet another sardonic Parks employee.

Donna frowns. "Or are you just coming off a coke binge," she says blithely. "Jumpy much?"

"Sorry," she says. "I just wasn't expecting to see anyone I knew. Right in front of me."

"Clearly," Donna says, with that special look that makes Ann confusingly crave her approval while wishing she could find the nearest hole to crawl into. "Why so down, sunshine? You know heroin chic went out in the 90s, right?"

And although Ann swore to herself to keep the whole mess a secret, it starts to spill out, in this little world of glass and plastic, of perfectly-shaded eyelids and artfully-styled hair. "I, um," she begins, and finally sets down the glass bust bottle of Pink Friday with a heavy, hollow clink. "I've had this kind of weird thing going on with someone and it's. It's weird. And it's really screwed up and I -"

"Alright, stop," Donna says before Ann really gets going, and she doesn't know whether to be grateful that Donna snapped her out of it or upset that she interrupted her. "This conversation requires alcohol."

Ann wants to scream that that's what started all of this, one drink that turned into who knew how many that turned into forgotten makeouts that turned into makeouts and more that she couldn't forget with all the Snake Juice left in Tom's private stash. What she says instead in a voice slightly tinged with panic is, "It's 11:30!"

That look again. Donna replies, "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look like you've got much else going for you today. And I definitely need a drink if I'm spending my precious Saturday listening to dispatches from the Ann Perkins crazy train."

It's hard not to take anything Donna says in that tone of voice the wrong way, but Ann allows her to steer her away from the fragrances and toward the registers, where she pays for several small jars of very expensive skin care products with a matte black credit card.

Donna forbids her to say anything about the issue at hand before they have drinks in front of them. "Permitted topics of conversation are my Mercedes, _Game of Thrones_ , opera and skin care," she says, pulling out of the shopping center parking lot.

"Um," Ann says, and she hates how meek she sounds, how small and insignificant. "I saw _The Magic Flute_ once when I was in college."

"Mm," Donna says, confirming that this contribution is in fact meek, small and insignificant. "Not my favorite. Although with the right coloratura the Queen of the Night aria is kicking. I'm letting this guy Marcus take me to Chicago next month for -" Here some Italian or maybe French words roll off of her tongue as though Ann had any hope of understanding them.

"What?" she asks faintly.

" _The Coronation of Poppea_ ," Donna says, clicking her tongue. Ann never realizes how meager her little Jenga tower of self-esteem is until she spends more than two minutes with Donna, who seems to have cities of marble statues' worth of self-esteem.

They chat about opera - well, Donna chats about opera while Ann listens - until they arrive at Mezze. It's just after noon on Saturday, so there's almost no one here. A man and a woman are sitting at the other end of the bar with drinks between them and smiles on their faces. Other than the two of them and the employees, she and Donna have the place to themselves. Ann feels like she can breathe.

"So you remember that night we were all at the Snakehole?" Ann says, but Donna holds a finger up. 

"Drinks first," she says. "Noon-on-Saturday drinks."

The bartender, a man dressed all in black with a cheesy fake grin on his face, approaches them. "Ladies," he says, dripping in fake charm, eyes on Donna. "How are we doing?"

Donna orders two Tom Collins and sends him on his way, and moments later the drinks are in front of them. "So. The Snakehole," she prompts when the glasses hit the dark wood of the bar. Glass in hand, she turns toward Ann, sipping.

She's so relieved to pour it all out to someone who's actually completely removed from the situation. Gin and lemon and sugar mingle bitter and sour and sweet on her tongue as she lets out the whole sordid story. Donna, for her part, actually looks surprised at the appropriate moments.

"Damn, girl," she says when Ann's finished recounting the events of the morning, uneaten pancakes and empty house and all. "I didn't think you had all that in you. No wonder you been so twisted up lately."

"What do you mean?"

"Kinda hard not to notice how weird you been acting lately. Even for you."

Ann groans. She slumps forward, ready to melt all over the bar, a mess to be wiped up and thrown away. "What do I do, Donna? I told Leslie it was over and I even meant it but the second I'm around April I just forget everything."

Donna twists a cocktail sword between her fingers, studying Ann. "Is it fun?"

"What?"

"Are you having fun? With April."

When she was having this conversation with Leslie, it mostly involved talking about everything wrong with the situation. She'd prepared herself for another conversation where every question made her hate herself more. Not one like this. "I don't know," she says. "I like it and I hate it, you know?"

"No, I don't," Donna says. "The second I start to hate something is the second I'm done with it."

"I mean," Ann says, frustrated. "I mean when she's just being April it's horrible because _she's_ horrible. But when we're - you know." She stops abruptly. It's the first time she's talked about this with anyone. "Making out or -"

"Uh-huh?" 

"Yeah. It's great then."

"Well damn, Ann, you can get that from anyone. Girl _or_ guy. What are you getting out of this if half the time you hate it?"

"I don't know." She doesn't know much of anything lately.

"Then it's already over. You're both just dragging it out when you're better off without it."

It's already over. The words echo in her head as she finishes her drink. For the first time _over_ doesn't feel like a weight tied around her ankles, dragging her under. She just feels lighter. Lemons and cherries and sunlight.

Donna drives Ann back to her car, this time dividing the conversation between _Game of Thrones_ and skin care. Like before, Ann spends most of the time listening, but not because she feels that Jenga tower collapsing again. Because for once she can see herself as a city of marble statues blazing in sunlight. Maybe not right now. Cities take time to build. When the Mercedes comes to a stop in the parking lot in front of Sephora, Ann turns to Donna and says, "Thanks, Donna."

"For what?"

"You know. Relationship advice?"

Donna smiles. "You're welcome." Ann smiles back and steps out onto the pavement. Just before she closes the door, Donna calls out to her. "Don't go telling anybody, though. I don't want my name uttered anywhere near the word _relationship_ , got it?"


	13. Chapter 13

The rest of the weekend floats by in a haze. April spends most of it horizontal. She enters her house and drops down onto the couch, sinking into the cushions and staring at the ceiling. She and Champion roll around sighing and groaning together. Eventually Andy comes in dripping with sweat from playing disc golf in Ramsett Park with his bros. He collapses on the couch too, folding her legs up so he can sit and then dropping her ankles in his lap. He launches into a blow-by-blow recap of his morning, which ended on a high note when Jerry and his wife were walking past their group and Jerry took a frisbee to the face. Andy almost knocks her and Champion off the couch telling her about it. She doesn't say anything and she barely even hears the Jerry story. This is when Andy must realize something's wrong because he turns on the TV, which is fine with her. He knows when she needs space to think about things and he never watches anything where people have feelings. The only bad thing about watching explosion after explosion is that they make her want to make a few her own. If only she felt like getting off the couch. 

Andy keeps looking at her all day. "Honey?" he says eventually over the screech of a car chase, and she feels more like poison than honey. If this were a movie, she'd be the villain. Which would normally be awesome except instead of pulling off heists and running away to Belize with millions of dollars and a cache of diamonds, she's just being awful to everyone she cares about. She left Ann all alone which is like Ann's worst fear and she didn't pay enough attention to Andy which is like Andy's worst fear.

"Yeah," she replies.

"Everything's ok, right?" He and Champion are both staring at her with the same expression on their faces. "I mean, it's totally not, because you're usually way into Jerry stories. I just, uh. You know I appreciate your feelings as a woman and everything, right? So you can talk to me. If you want. Your body, your choice."

She wants him to major in women's studies just so he'll keep talking like that. "Do you want me to talk to you about having sex with your ex-girlfriend?"

"My ex ..." He frowns, trying to keep up.

"Ann."

"Oh! The Ann thing! Wow, that's right, she is my ex-girlfriend! Hahaha, weird." Andy is obviously very amused by this. So amused he seems to have forgotten that there was an Ann thing. So April lets it drop, and they watch three and a half more movies before Champion finally stands up and stretches, letting out a yawn that ends in a little whine, which sets Andy off too. Andy bellows when he yawns, twisting his arms up around his head and popping every bone from his neck to his hips in a stretch. "Oh god, babe, I'm so tired," he says, his voice thick with yawning, "you ready for bed yet?"

"I'm sleeping out here," she mumbles. "I don't wanna get up."

Andy flops back against the couch cushions and looks over at her, concern on his face again. "I know we have a super nice couch and everything," he begins. They don't actually, but she doesn't press the point. "But like, don't you want to sleep with me?" He realizes what he's said a second after he says it and can't stop himself from grinning before correcting himself and saying he's totally not trying to pressure her into giving her consent because that isn't really consent.

"Just carry me to bed," she says, and he does, of course, swinging her from side to side, her limbs splaying out and her laughter ringing off the walls. 

He really is tired. When he drops her onto their bed he jumps in behind her and wraps himself around her. The lights are still on when he starts snoring. Champion settles in at their feet, laying his head on April's legs. She doesn't want to disturb either of them to get up and turn off the light, so she grabs a pillow and covers her head to block out the light and noise. It's warm and dark and turns Andy's snores into white noise, so soon she's asleep too.

Monday comes and April doesn't want to go to work. Andy, who dragged her into bed the past two nights, has to drag her out of it. She drags her feet along the floor and takes an extra-long shower, because if they're late then maybe she can avoid Ann. The twisting feeling in her chest tells her she won't be able to keep it up forever, but who says she can't put it off?

It turns out that she only gets the morning free. She makes the mistake of leaving the Parks office for lunch and Ann ambushes her, grabbing April by the arm and leading her to her office. April actually wonders how she pulled this off, how no one asked her why she was lurking outside the office like a creeper, ruining her genius plan of just grabbing April and forcing her to have a conversation.

The door slams closed behind them and Ann orders, "Sit."

April does.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ann demands for the second time in the past week. April digs down for something to say but she can't come up with anything, so she just sits in the chair across from Ann's and waits. "Nothing?" she says after a moment. "No explanation for just ditching me?"

There's a perfectly good explanation, and it's that April would much rather have dealt with the angry, fuming Ann she has now than the sad, weepy Ann that would have resulted from April finally, really telling her it was time to stop. It's really easy to just say something stupid like, "Your pancakes sucked," but April goes with the truth. "It was easier for me to just leave than to say we probably shouldn't do that again."

"Easier," Ann says. "For you, you mean."

April looks down at the floor. "Yeah."

"So what, you figured I was gonna be a wreck either way and you decided you just didn't want to deal with it?"

"No," April finds herself saying. "Because either way I was ruining a pretty good morning. Whether I just left or whether I stayed to talk." She crosses her arms in front of her and decides that while she's being honest she might as well keep it up. "I would have had to tell you that like. It's always gonna be weird. Between us. And I guess I didn't want it to be."

"And then I would have been ... a wreck, I guess," Ann says.

"And then I would have been like, fine, let's just keep going."

The air feels heavy, silence pressing down on them. After a few moments, Ann stands up and walks slowly around her desk, approaching with caution before she squeezes April in her arms. April did not expect this, and it's such a shock that it takes her a second to groan and go limp, trying to slide out of Ann's grasp. But Ann the beautiful clingy boa constrictor just tightens around her, pressing the breath out of her. "What are you doing?" April moans. She gasps for air and her tongue lolls out of her mouth.

"I'm hugging you."

"Why?" April demands, a death rattle rasping, rising up to the ceiling in Ann's office.

"Because," Ann says, disbelief in her voice. "It's what friends do when they're done fighting." She finally lets go, and a cloud of sugary, pink-smelling perfume drifts down around April. It makes her want to go roll around on the fourth floor.

"Friends," April repeats, and the word feels like a poisonous chemical fog, like whatever awful perfume Ann is wearing. "You wanna be my friend after. Everything?" A weight settles in the pit of her stomach, pulling her down. She feels like she could ooze down into the fibers of the carpet.

"That's all I ever wanted from you, April," Ann replies softly and maybe kind of wistfully. She's leaning back on her desk, her arms tightly folded across her chest like she's either keeping something out or holding something in. "I hate that we kind of ... maybe screwed that up. Any chance of us just being friends."

April swallows around the guilt and finds nothing to say except, "Me too," the words floating up gently in a whisper. Her face is hot and she has to swallow a lot. She's either going to cry or hurl, and she doesn't want to do either one in front of Ann, who looks kind of like how April feels. "Um," she says, one syllable shaking. "I gotta ..." She stands up and her hand is on the doorknob when Ann sighs and throws up her hands, smacking her palms on her desk.

"At least this time you got halfway to telling me you're leaving," she says, and April feels a little bit better because pissed off Ann is far superior to sad Ann. "All I did was hug you and try to be genuine with you without 18 layers of irony or whatever it is that you need to feel comfortable around another human being. Is it really easier to have sex with me than it is to hug me?"

"You were being kind of cool for once when we were having sex," April mumbles, and she hates that she just sounds small. She didn't really mean it anyway but it'd be nice to be able to replace at least one layer of irony.

"Well I'm not cool, I'm just nice, and you're gonna have to suck it up and deal with it because I like you and you are going to be my friend, dammit." April can hear Ann's teeth gritting together and for a second she almost believes her before she realizes she doesn't want to be Ann's friend, she wants to be Ann's ... something else.

"Sure thing, chum," she says, thinking about how nice it could have been if she'd realized that before being maybe the worst April she's ever been. She opens the door and steps out into the hall, wondering if they can ever make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end now, pals!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ann returns to the Snakehole at April's request.

It's Friday before April even speaks to Ann again. Actually, Ann's not sure 'speak' is the correct term for affixing a note to her desk by stabbing it with a letter opener. 

The note says, "Snakehole, 10:00. Or else. - April"

She shouldn't go, but she should. Every time she comes up with a reason to stay away, she comes up with a reason to go. They came to a decision to end this once and for all, but obviously they're both still dealing with a lot of issues that they haven't talked about. April might try to make out with her again, but she probably won't. Ann wouldn't stop her if she did, but again, she probably won't. Maybe April wants to be friends, too, but she probably doesn't.

It's pointless to do this, to weigh pros and cons. She knows she's going.

The Snakehole seems especially desperate tonight, and Ann realizes it's because Valentine's Day is next week. There's a profound skeeviness in the air, or maybe that's the guy standing in line behind her, pressing right up into her back and breathing close to her ear in a way he probably thinks is really sexy.

She turns to him and scoffs, "Really? Could you maybe mouthbreathe like six steps back or so?" 

She whirls back around and April is standing in front of her, seemingly summoned by Ann's snark and disdain. The streetlights cast shadows over her face so Ann can't even see the whites of her eyes.

"Where'd you learn to be so mean, Ann?" she asks. "That guy could have been your next Eric."

"Aha, you're trying to be mean but you remembered his name! You listen when I talk to you!"

"Don't be a nerd about it, okay." April grabs her arm and leads her to the front of the line. She glares at the bouncer when he tries to stop them and demands to know what his name is so she can tell Mr. Snakehole so his name will be at the top of the list for the next round of firings.

The guy lets them in. It's not the first time Ann's felt like the Snakehole is some kind of alternate universe where at least a third of the average person's brain is replaced with cotton balls.

As soon as they're inside, April heads for the bar. "No!" Ann screams over the screech of dubstep in the club. "There's no way I'm drinking!"

April turns to stare at her, and opens her mouth to say something but all that comes out is dubstep. "Why?" she says several times before Ann hears her.

Ann wonders if April hears her stuttering for a second before she's able to say, "Because that's how this whole stupid mess started!" April says something else and Ann can't take anymore. She takes April's hand - _probably a bad idea, stop thinking about how nice it is and be annoyed that she brought you here in the first place,_ she thinks - and leads her outside. She's already feeling a little hoarse from all the screaming.

"The best way to make sure everyone's feelings are out in the open is to drink," April says. "You're like a hundred years old, how do you not understand that?"

"I'm perfectly capable of talking about feelings without drinking," Ann says, trying to sound reasonable. "The last time we got drunk here -"

"I wasn't drunk," April interrupts.

"Okay, fine, the last time _I_ got drunk here ... I mean, I don't even ..."

"What? Remember?"

"No. I don't. And somehow this happened." She points to herself and then to April. "Did you even kiss me that night?" she asks.

"What do you think?" April replies.

"I don't know! That's why I asked!"

"Of course I did."

"Why? You never told me why."

April is very still for a moment, standing in front of Ann and looking everywhere but at her. Ann realizes their hands are still twined around each other, shivering together in the cold February night.

"You were just talking a lot about that guy. That really lame guy."

"Eric. Don't pretend you don't listen to me."

"Eric," April says. "You just kept talking and I wanted you to shut up so bad because guys are like the most boring topic to have to listen to someone talk about and then you were like, maybe I should just try girls, and you looked so embarrassed about saying it that I just went with it. I thought it was funny."

"But the note. God, why did you leave me that stupid note?"

She presses her lips together. "I didn't want you to forget. I thought maybe if I reminded you ..." She shrugs. "But you never remembered. So I went with it."

Ann was so sure April had had an epic scheme in all of this. She'd certainly stirred up epic amounts of emotional baggage and paranoia. "I thought for sure you had a drawing room full of like, chess pieces and maps where you plotted. Or even just a binder full of plans to fuck with me."

"Nah. I mean, I tried to plan it once but I only got as far as making a bullet point. Then I threw the paper away."

Ann exhales long and slow and deep. What might have been the one of most stressful couple of weeks of her life was just the result of one snap decision April made because of something _Ann_ had said. She doesn't know whether this makes her feel better or worse about the whole ordeal.

"I think I changed my mind," Ann says. "I really want a drink." Alcohol will help her sort this out. "I'll be right back," she says, and turns to go back inside.

"Shut up and tell me your feelings," April replies, gripping her shoulder and turning her back around.

"All I've been doing is telling you my stupid feelings. Over and over again. Yelling and crying while I do. And you haven't told me anything, you just shut down and leave or say something horrible every time you even get close to it."

"Yeah, Ann, that's kinda my thing. I knew you'd catch on."

"Oh, stop it! Just tell me one stupid feeling. You kinda owe me, you know."

"Fine. I kinda just wish we could go back to normal. Like the way we were before."

"Well, I don't want that!" Ann screeches, surprised at the volume and really gross scratchiness in her voice. God, does she really sound like that? She shakes the thought from her mind and sees surprise on April's face too. "The way we were before really _sucked_ , April!"

April looks stunned at Ann's outburst. Ann feels more lucid than she has in a long time, but she feels like she's losing control again, ranting and raving outside a trashy bar.

"Wow, Ann," April drawls after a moment. "Way to totally disregard my feeling." She pulls her hand away from Ann's and the nighttime chill works it way into Ann's bones just a little more.

"Your feeling is stupid. Why do you want to pretend to hate me so much?"

"It's just easier, okay?" April crosses her arms over her chest and collapses onto a bench that's pushed up against the wall. She huddles up on herself, trying to keep the cold out.

"We don't get to have easy anymore! You screwed 'easy' all up!"

"Fine. What do we do instead? Do you wanna hang out with me? That's worked so well for us in the past."

"That ..." Ann trails off. She stands hopelessly in front of April, looking down at her.

"It would just make everything harder," April adds bitterly. "If we were friends."

"You're right." Ann sits down at the other end of the bench, crossing her legs and hunching her shoulders forward.

"Maybe you need to date another boring guy. That could get you back to normal."

"I'm starting to think dating isn't the answer to all my problems."

"Yeah, but if you're moaning over some guy, you'll forget about being my friend. Or maybe you could just work your way through the alphabet. One guy for each letter. You must have at least gotten halfway through already."

"Why are you so opposed to being nice to me?" Ann snaps, looking over at April.

April is staring at the concrete, shivering. "I'm not."

"You just said you don't want to be my friend! And then you called me a slut!"

April's face is twisted up like she's in pain. The streetlights behind the Snakehole show her breath rising up in clouds of vapor. "Look, you're not the only one who ..." she begins, but it's like a metal shutter slams down, and her face becomes blank again. "I like this too much," she finally says. "I like _you_ too much. And I can't stop thinking about all the stuff we're not supposed to do. And it hurts me and it's gonna hurt you." Her breath shakes, dead leaves rattling on dry branches. "There's my feelings, okay?"

The light must be throwing weird shadows on April's face, because Ann could swear she sees tears in April's eyes as she stands up and storms inside the Snakehole. Thumping bass and darkness swallow her, and Ann sits frozen to the bench, unable to follow her or even to call her name.


	15. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April visits Ann in the hospital. She comes bearing gifts.

2014

"Your lesbian love misses you," April announces in the doorway of Ann's hospital room. Ann's looking down into a crib when April walks in and when she looks up, there's none of that terror that used to be on Ann's face when April so much as suggested any kind of lesbian shenanigans. Ann just wrinkles her eyebrows a little and blows an errant strand of hair from her face, then glances back at the crib.

"I miss you too, April," Ann says.

"I wasn't talking about me. Sorry, Ann, milfs aren't my thing. I was talking about Leslie. She's lamer than ever and it's all your fault."

"Oh, yeah. She told me about the whole ranking thing." She sits back down on the bed. She left a little room for April but April's lingering just inside the doorway, a blue gift bag hanging from her fingers. "You sure you're not just mad you weren't number one?"

April rolls her eyes and finally steps inside the room. "I would've been if she rated us in things that mattered. Like best use of crime scene tape," she replies, reaching into the gift bag and handing Ann a wrapped present. 

Ann doesn't know what she expected. It's a roll of crime scene tape.

"I figured you already had like two million organic fair trade unicorn hair onesies or whatever," April says, looking at the ceiling. She even sounds a little apologetic.

"One day this crime scene tape's time will come," Ann says. "And we'll be ready." She sets it down on the chair next to the bed, along with her bags and several greeting cards in shades of pale yellow and green and blue. "Do you wanna sit down and say hi?"

"Hi," April says, confused, still standing awkwardly next to the bed.

"No," Ann replies. "God, you realize you're in a room with a baby, right? Sometimes humans like to say hello to new babies."

"I don't believe in being nice to babies," April says, edging toward the bed. "Some psychologist proved the best environment for babies is like a sterile box or something. It makes them into Übermenschen. Don't you want your baby to be ein Übermensch?"

"April, they didn't actually put - shut up and welcome my child to the world." She pulls April down onto the bed and the blue gift bag falls to the floor with a slap. Ann turns to lift Oliver out of his crib. He's got that dazed look on his face that she's learned means that all is well, pretty much. "Oliver," she says, "this is April. Say hi, April."

"Greetings, pod creature," she says softly.

Ann knows it's the best she'll get. Oliver studies April, or at least looks in April's general direction. 

April reaches forward, and for a moment Ann thinks she's going to hold his hand or something a reasonable person would do. But April hesitates and then just straightens the brim of the knit hat Oliver's wearing.

The sight of this gesture, so small and with the slightest bit of discomfort, presses warmly inside Ann's chest. Everything seems to glow with a honey-tinged shimmer. Her body seems to be rejoicing in unpregnancy. 

"That's just swell, Ann," April says, her voice sliding into a somewhat-subdued Janet Snakehole. "Your baby factory has produced a fine prototype. They'll be on the assembly line within the year."

"Thanks, April," she says. "You can hold him, you know. We make them sturdy and wolverine-resistant here in Michigan."

"I'm good," April replies faintly. "He's, um. He's good where he is, probably."

"He's starting to get sleepy anyway," Ann says. "I think." She lowers him back into his crib and his eyes droop closed. 

April seems much less tense, so Ann takes the opportunity to rest her head on April's shoulder, twining her arm around April's. 

"I didn't expect you to come today," she says.

"Neither did I. But I guess I miss you or whatever."

A few tears have run down Ann's face before she's really had time to process this admission. "Yeah," she chokes out. "I miss you too."

"God," April groans. "Don't do that, ok?"

"Look, I just had a baby," she says, sniffling. "Everything is so beautiful I start crying every five minutes and then I start missing Pawnee and then I look at Oliver again and it's like this revolving door of feelings."

"Ugh, god. One feeling used to take you like a week to process."

"Yeah, it's kind of annoying." The tears have stopped, like they usually do. She grabs a tissue from the box next to her bed and dries her face. "Now I'll be puffy for like an hour. Thanks."

"Look. I brought you another gift."

"Not an organic fair trade unicorn onesie, I hope."

"I'll only give it to you if you promise not to cry again."

"I promise," Ann says.

April produces a stuffed bunny from the gift bag that she dropped on the floor.

"Aw," Ann says, reaching to flop its ears with her fingers. "I'm sure Oliver will love it when he can, you know, recognize objects."

"It's not for him."

"What?"

"Ok, so. It's for Leslie. Donna and I were talking because she's just been so weird since you left so we thought of this." April presses the bunny's paw. 

"I'm just an impartial bunny, but I think Ann sucks," the bunny says, looking directly up at Ann with its little fake bunny eyes. "Also I'm the Zodiac Killer," it adds with a growl.

"I'm not sure Leslie would like that message," Ann says gently.

"Yeah, that's why I brought it here so you can make it say something nice to her. Try to keep up, Ann."

"Oh," Ann says, and then starts crying again. "That is the corniest and sweetest thing you could ever do, April. Was this your idea or Donna's?"

"Donna's," April replies quickly.

"Yeah right," Ann says, her voice wobbling. "It was all your idea. Because you miss me and you love Leslie." She keeps talking for a minute but April doesn't understand what she's saying because Ann loses the ability to use consonants.

April sighs and mumbles, "Maybe I'll just record you crying and keep the bunny for myself."

Ann laughs hoarsely and then wraps her arms around April and April goes limp, drooping back against the pillows on Ann's hospital bed. For a fleeting moment, she's a little afraid of Ann. She sits perfectly still in Ann's grasp, worried that if she tries to break away, Ann's gross post-pregnancy hormones will make her go into some kind of rage and break April's ribs with her man hands.

Ann takes a few minutes to collect herself. She releases her hold on April, and some tension seems to fall from April's shoulders. "So you're telling me this beautiful, sappy gift was all Donna's idea."

"The bunny was. Well. We weren't looking for a bunny or anything. It was the only thing we could find at Walgreen's that did the lame recording-your-voice thing."

"Did you have a fun bonding session with Donna?"

"It would have been great if she didn't want to talk about how I feel about you moving here to have a baby."

"Ooh," Ann says, scrunching up her face. "I may have mentioned you and me to her at one point."

April shrugs, impassive.

Ann watches her for a moment, then turns her gaze back down to the bunny that's still in her hands. Its fur is cool and slippery beneath her fingertips. Finally she asks quietly, "How _do_ you feel about me moving here to have a baby?" She looks back toward April.

"I dunno." April will not meet Ann's eyes or even look at her. Silence stretches between them and Ann wonders who's going to break it first. "I guess ..." April begins, but thinks better of what she was going to say. Ann is so close to her, much closer than she's been for years. She tries to swallow around the words but finally she says, "It makes it a little easier."

Ann frowns. "For who? Me?"

"Me. I mean, I'm happy for you and everything, but -"

"Aww," Ann breathes, unaccustomed to hearing April admit to harboring any positive feelings about her. Unfortunately, this seems to remind April of what she's about to say, and she clams up again, rigid and blank.

Ann thinks of that night on the lot behind her house. Her life, her home had been reduced to nothing but fortress of cardboard boxes marked FRAGILE, and she'd begun feeling a little like a box full of fragile things herself. _Please don't make me say it,_ April had begged, words whispered in darkness, and Ann hadn't.

"But?" she prompts.

"Sometimes I just think." She doesn't elaborate what she thinks about, but Ann can guess. "And I guess seeing you all stupid and happy would've. I dunno. Made me think some more." April is steadfastly avoiding Ann's gaze and fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve.

Sometimes, Ann thinks too. About April and why they wouldn't have worked out. About why they didn't really even try. She'll probably think about these things less now that she has a family, but will those thoughts ever really go away? Or is the memory of April's voice saying _I love you too_ just one of those fragile things packed away that will eventually be forgotten?

Ann looks down at the bunny, sitting patiently in her hands. She presses its paw and holds the button, saying, "Hi Leslie. It's Ann." She can feel April's eyes on her. The words she chooses to say are so corny but she doesn't care. More than one person needs to hear this. "I love you and everything's gonna be okay."

After a moment, April asks, "Is there a bedpan in here? I think I need to puke."

"Yeah right," Ann replies, feeling a little raw. "You sure you don't have another one of these so I can make one for you?"

"No thanks. I'll just call my grandma if I ever need an old woman to tell me how much she loves me." April takes the bunny when Ann offers it and presses its paw. Ann's message plays and April looks away. "So I guess I should go or whatever," she says. "So I can give this to Leslie before I give in to the urge to burn it."

Ann pulls her into another hug. April groans in response, but doesn't go limp or try to escape, so Ann holds on, only breaking away when Oliver gurgles in his crib. She sighs and says, "I gotta ..." before loosening her hold on April.

"Yeah," April says quickly. She stands up and puts the bunny in the blue gift bag. She's almost through the door when Ann calls out to her.

"Thanks, April," she says. "Goodbye." _I love you_ tries to follow quickly behind, but she stops it, knowing it would just push the thorns of all that overgrowth a little bit deeper into their skins.

April keeps walking and reaches into the gift bag. Ann hears a click as she presses the bunny's paw one more time. The sound of April's recorded voice saying, "I'm just an impartial bunny, but I think Ann sucks," rings in the hallway, fading as she walks away. "Also I'm the Zodiac Killer," it growls, probably terrifying a new family as the person carrying it heads out of the building, on her way back to Pawnee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally finished, pals! It's been more than a year since I started, for which I profoundly apologize. I never thought this story would get such a positive response from so many people. Thank you all for reading and enjoying it.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [I Like The Way You Feel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026751) by [RebeccaDopplemeyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaDopplemeyer/pseuds/RebeccaDopplemeyer)




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